Page 117 of Thrown for a Loop
As promised, I let Chase handle the choreography. I’m a little startled when he pulls out and flips me over in one smooth motion. When he fills me from behind, everything becomes a shade more urgent. I’m gripping the bed and straining back against his thrustinghips. He’s wrapped an arm around my body, clutching me to his chest while he kisses my jaw and whispers into my ear.
I only catch some of the words through the haze of my own desire.Yes. Mine. Beautiful.We’re like an incoming tide, rising a little higher on each wave.
And to think that anyone would go to the trouble to stand between us? The fucking nerve.
“Zoe. Baby. Now,” he says.
I let go, and I fly free.
Chapter 39
It takes a lot of lying in Chase’s bed together and even a quick nap before we manage to get up again. Chase puts a couple of slices of Marnie’s multigrain into the toaster while I shuffle back into my borrowed clothes.
“Can I leave the bright PJs at your house?” I ask when I emerge into the living area. “Either that or I need to borrow a tote bag to make my walk of shame less embarrassing.”
“Leave them,” he says, buttering our toast. “We can work on our choreography again later this week.”
“You mean…‘Wicked Game’?”
He smiles over the butter dish. “Nope. But that too if you want.”
I locate my phone on the way to the kitchen. Then I take one look at the screen and curse. “God damn it! Moreau finally made an appointment with me, and it’s in…” I check the time. “Forty minutes!”
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
I groan. “Yes and no. But the timing is a new kind offuck you. He made this appointment three minutes ago. He’s hoping I’ll stand him up. Hell—I’ve got to get out of here.”
“No, wait,” he says, catching me before I can run for the door and aiming me at a barstool. “Eat your toast. I’m calling a car for my lunch date. We can run you home to change, and then we’ll drop you off at the rink on my way.”
“Are you sure?”
“Totally sure. Has Moreau been giving you a lot of trouble?”
I sit down. “No and yes. He’s been a no-show, which is rude. But so have other players.”
“His skating is abominable,” Chase says, giving me a look that’s comically appalled. “Dude should have been a soccer player instead.”
“Trust me, I’ve noticed. Give me the dirt on Moreau. Is he a dick? Or am I just impatient with bad skaters?”
Chase grins. “A little of both? He came to the Legends at the trade deadline last season. He’s probably been the worst skater on the team his whole life. And every skating coach makes him tense.”
“Hmm.” I need to find a way around that. “What’s he good at?”
Chase refills our juice glasses. “He’s a hard hitter. Willing to sacrifice his body. Above-average stamina. Kinda like me.” He winks. “Don’t take any shit from Moreau, though. And if he does anything weird—likeanything—I want to hear about it. We’ve got to figure out who your bully is.”
“Yeah, fine. But it could be anyone, and my gut says that Moreau is just a garden-variety dickhead. More ego than emotional range. I’ll be fine, though. Tolerating assholes is my superpower.”
“But, Zoe…” Chase passes me a plate. “Aren’t you always telling the guys that their superpower is also their greatest weakness? What if tolerating assholes isn’t working for you anymore? Maybe it’s time to swing back.”
I blink up at him. “You make a few good points.” Then I look down at the plate, which contains both pieces of toast and a generous amount of butter. “Where’syourplate?”
“That’s all for you!” he calls as he disappears into the bedroom with his coffee mug. “I gotta change for lunch!”
I consider arguing. But then I eat both pieces of toast instead.
Chase’s chauffeured car gets me home to change and back to the rink in plenty of time.
“You coming to the game tonight?” he asks as we slow to a stop at the curb.
